


save tonight, save the show

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: (SIGHS), ALSO HAND-HOLDING LET'S GOOO., But it's mostly porny. Soz., But not on purpose. More like. babble. incessant dirty chatter., Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Fucking FINALLY., M/M, Mild S&M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, REALLY mild., Some of it is just a touch introspective., Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: "Ooh, don't debase yourself for me, Croco."“Maybe it’s the weather."(Set post-Roger's execution -- Before all the hurt and complication, where they're ambitious and hungry and just beginning to get a feel for each other, both of them feeding their own little brands of cruelty and learning where, how, etc. they can push each other.)
Relationships: Crocodile/Donquixote Doflamingo
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	save tonight, save the show

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhh, Mingo's teeeechnically 17 here according to canon, so lemme know if I need to throw up an underage tag? He's like a month off and I doubt pirates are sticklers for exact dates but the audience I am writing for is Not composed of pirates, so, uh. 
> 
> Crocodile jokingly misgenders himself riiight in the beginning but there's no real thread of that. Standard terminology is used for genitalia.

"Well, you sure know how to treat a lady." Crocodile drawls around his cigar, leaning back onto his elbows and laying his head back against the nest of pillows as Doflamingo moves to prop his ankles up on the wide span of his shoulders. Rain thuds heavy against the windows, Loguetown exhausting herself to cast the entire town in a slick grayscale. 

"Ooh, don't debase yourself for me, Croco," he grins, folds himself so Crocodile's calves slide up when he ducks forward to press a kiss to the dip of his clavicle, feel the rumble of his laugh as he licks a path up to his jawline. “I don’t remember you being quite this easy,” he mumbles against his throat with a near-hysterical giggle, can’t help himself, giddy with the way Crocodile cranes his neck for him and slides his thighs apart. He earns himself a growl for that and, yes,  _ good. _

“Maybe it’s the weather,” Crocodile says, the glint of his teeth dagger bright in the lowlight. Doflamingo doesn’t respond, just purrs and angles Crocodile’s chin with those questing fingers to push into his mouth with the sweep of tongue, cigar plucked loose and held aloft. He returns, for once, tongue pressing dry and warm along Doflamingo’s teeth, smoke drifting lazily from the seams of his mouth. He reaches out, pale wrists, graceful fingers just barely discolored in little hoops where he’s missing a ring or two--he wants them in his hair,  _ yes,  _ he wants this man to pull his hair clean from the roots when he arches his back and cries out with Doflamingo leaving bloody arcs in his shoulder--reaching beyond him to retrieve his cigar with a lazy sigh. 

He watches him with wide, inquisitive eyes, makes no effort to shield the way his gaze traces the flash of Crocodile’s tongue when it curls to pull the cigar into his mouth, and it sets the blonde’s blood alight, glowing fluorescent in his veins, anger at the dismissal smoldering over into fascination, lust. His teeth, god, he wants to lick them--and so he does, not used to denying his own whims, leaning down and running his tongue along that grimace until he hits rolled paper. Crocodile’s nose scrunches in disgust, and Doflamingo whistles a laugh through his teeth. 

“Mm, you’re awful pretty, you know that?” Doflamingo sighs without quite meaning to, slides his hands down Crocodile’s still-clothed sides, feels the contour of his waist and smooths down to his hips where bare skin peeks through beneath the cut of his dress shirt. Dark and just barely ill-fitting, as if his wardrobe hasn’t quite adjusted to his shape yet. Crocodile bares fangs again, almost perfunctorily, accompanying the raise of lip with a roll of the eyes--as if he’s already worn the interaction through in his mind’s eye and decided he’s tired of it--and Doflamingo ducks his head, presses another kiss into the line of his throat, “You know I don’t mean it like that.” A grin, sleazy and challenging, another stiff look from Crocodile. 

His thighs are moonlight pale and soft beneath his hands, firm when he hooks his fingers into them and Crocodile’s head tilts back, letting loose another heady exhale that drifts blue to the ceiling. He’s boneless today, when he so usually is all bite--maybe it is the rain, or maybe the way he stood and let it soak him through as Roger’s head tumbled dark down the scaffold, the way he’d sunk into the scenery like the dark stain of spurting blood from twitching throat. 

(Some time, many years later Doflamingo thinks not of the show--of the glorious yell and the exuberant scream of the crowd that the young pirate had so relished in--but the gurgling noise the Pirate King had made somewhere in that severed throat of his, as the blood filled it, the way his eyelids had fluttered over that grin of his. Human after all, it’d seem. He thinks of the way Crocodile’s head tilted, too sharp and lethal for his own good, like that rush of blood was all he’d heard, gushing loud and grotesque over the call of the sea.) 

Doflamingo had leaned down after he left, let Vergo stand diligently at his back as he pressed his full palm to the floor of the washed out plaza, neatly fitting against the slick ground where Crocodile had run two sturdy, indulgent fingers and tapped them against his chin, half shrewd thoughtfulness and half  _ hope, _ maybe. His own twitch in place, spreading a little wider on arcing brick. He lays a claim. 

His fingers dig to the point of bruising, just the way they like--or, maybe, more than that, just about the only way the two of them can stomach. He pries him apart with one hand still digging those long, purpling brands and the other tracing the apex of his thighs, thumb tucked under his clit. Two fingers, knobby and gangly with youth when they push in, pulling a delighted purr from Doflamingo with the way they sink easy, deep, wet.  _ Human after all. _ He pulls his fingers back to suck them into his mouth, the only thing that keeps his grin from eclipsing his face. Another lazy mouthful of smoke, pink tongue and white teeth, eyes with a sedate lowering and a simmer beneath. 

Here, too, with Crocodile just barely straddling the edge of pliant, he lays a claim. A breath shudders in Crocodile’s throat, can feel the way it pulls up from his belly when they’re pressed chest-to-chest like this, the younger fucking  _ big,  _ painful when he pushes in with a single stroke that has their toes curling in tandem. It’s harsh, too, jerking Crocodile back and up against the pillows he’s set against so his crown doesn’t slam into the headboard--Doflamingo’s too prone to spoiling him, really, a combination of his own ego and oddly set affections, preening him so his spine can rest easy when he prospectively makes him curl to the point of strain. 

Nails, too, biting into flesh of thigh and, hand lifted, shoulder, when he drives in again with a low, whining moan that stirs the hair hanging limp by Crocodile’s ear, tongue lurching to press messily against the shell. Another whine dissolves into babbles with the cant of his hips, an unerotic sort of current of affirmations and keens, broken-off and over-eager, smoke tickling his hairline. Saliva drips wet with the lathing down the curve of his jaw, gathers along his chin in the same way sweat would bead. At his tender age, moderation is not a finely tuned skill, greed spilling over; a desperate, starved wanting, to  _ take, _ and an inability to  _ give,  _ to be  _ taken  _ on his lizard’s end, bitter conundrum that flies right out of the blonde’s head with the roll of his own hips--giving into himself easily, at the very least.

Skin, heat. The stutter of smoke as it drifts to the ceiling. Ragged breath under keening praise and rollicking moans.

“Hrn, no finesse,” mutters Crocodile, mostly to himself, and Doflamingo arches a happy brow through the haze of  _ warmgoodtightnice, Crocodile,  _ excited to see his lizard participating so  _ enthusiastically _ , even if the words don’t reach him through the pounding of blood straining his eardrums. He rewards him for the engagement, reaches down between the joining of their bodies to press the pad of his thumb against his clit again, gives him an especially punishing thrust. 

Crocodile gasps, calves jumping and flexing on Doflamingo’s shoulders-- “God, you’re so  _ flexible _ , so good,  _ fuck _ ,” another pulse of heat in his core--and he sucks the cigar into his mouth, his hand slamming down, clamping over where Doflamingo runs those ruddy marks into the flesh of his inner thigh, the bite of gold cold and abrupt over quivering fingers, a strain that runs all the way up the veins of his wrist and sets his whole arm shaking to the elbow. What is that, molten in his chest, pitching in fervor until he wants to melt into the older man, pull him into his ribcage and keep him there?  _ God.  _ He bites his tongue to keep back a  _ don’t ever leave me  _ from entering his slurred speech. 

(It’s not until many years later he almost identifies this, earning himself a scoff and a pinch when he mutters a teasing declaration of affections to his ruined lover as he lay beneath him.  _ My wani,  _ crooning and coarse with thinly veiled wit.) 

Crocodile barks a “Brat, don’t ruin the cigar.”, his own chest filling with an uncomfortable, oppressive heat, but the younger still keens, crushes the pointed cherry--too many pulls, breath shallow and rushed and unfitting of a proper smoke--into his throat when he ruts forward, lets the pain ground him as his gaze fixes on Crocodile’s fingers settled over, between his own. 

Crocodile’s eyebrows lift just barely, but Doflamingo isn’t looking, overwhelmed with the sting and preoccupied in running tight circles over Crocodile, his other fingers drooping instinctively to circle his rim as it catches and drags against his cock, “Good, good,  _ good god _ , your cunt is,  _ fuck,  _ the best, isn’t it?  _ God _ , I can’t,  _ you _ \--”

The unabashed motions of a narcissist, utterly carnal and unrefined, Crocodile would suppose with a sneer if he wasn’t pressing so  _ deeply, _ hips pulling back to leave him utterly empty and stuttering back in until their navels grind where Crocodile's shirt rides up his ribcage, sweat-sticky and coarse with hair. If he wasn’t dancing those puppeteer’s fingers along him _ ,  _ tracing each fold and dip with a fascination like he was trying to slide them inside along the already admittedly impressive girth of his cock, want unfettered. Insatiable. He clenches, subconsciously, and Doflamingo lets out a strangled cry, cutting off a wheezed “ _ tight, good _ ,” and then, like it’s being wrung from him on air only, an exercise of self control beyond anything else of the night,  _ “Insideplease?” _

Crocodile smiles with the edges of his mouth, grin just barely creasing his cheek. He’s not quite sure why, especially when he should be pulling his lip up in distaste. 

The cigar tumbles from his mouth, and tapping cool ash onto their flush abdomens, fully extinguished, and he leans forward to press his tongue into the throbbing, circular wound below the blonde’s Adam’s apple. The pulse of pain, along with the wet warmth of the appendage pulling a low, garbled moan from him are implicit permission, instinct keeping their hips pinned together and oscillating while Doflamingo comes until he whites out, though not without the presence to just  _ barely  _ ease his middle finger in alongside the incessant stroking of his thumb, curl it to make Crocodile groan  _ loud _ and collapse into him. 

A beat of panted air, moist and warm. A quiet squeeze of fingers, lopsided and cold where rings brand skin. 

"Holding hands, coming together, little romantic, isn't it?" He laughs, breathless and good-humored, continuing to fuck Crocodile through his orgasm until he's limp and twitching inside him, hand still squeezing his while the other shreds the sheet with the force of his claw. 

"Funny idea of romance you got. Is that what your little family tells you?" His head tips back, spine lax against the bedding, and he withdraws his hand from the mattress to brush the half-smoked cigar off his stomach. He can't see his eyes, but he's sure the glint is vicious. Doflamingo’s mouth yanks downwards at the corner with that, leans forward to press his pout against Crocodile’s jawline. The irony of Vergo exiled a couple doors down isn’t lost on him. “Get me a new cigar, fool.” 

“Mmm, come on. Give it a rest.” Another kiss, inching up to his ear to suck an earring into his mouth. Always the gold, cool and impervious, with his reptile. "Let's not spoil the moment." He pulls out with a shift of his hips, smothering the sticky little noise with a pleased sigh. "Where'd  _ your _ brand of  _ romance _ come from anyway, gator man? One Piece, really?" 

"I'll show you--" Crocodile groans in annoyance with a huff from his nostrils--the dig shouldn't needle him, so far removed from any real conceptions of  _ romance  _ and  _ adventure _ that Roger's treasure posed but it does, somehow--tilts his chin away and tries to lift his hand before Doflamingo snatches it, threads their fingers fully with a salacious grin. The outline of his palm lays dark on the white of his thigh, a lingering stamp of heat even when his fingers withdraw.

"Ah-ah. What's the rush?" Crocodile is warm under him, wet and marvellously tight when he dips a finger forward, overstimulation making his legs tense instantly. Doflamingo's cock instantly stirs between his legs, a perk of youth and voracious appetite. "You don't have anywhere to be going just yet, fu fu. You're no fool."

"The sooner away from you the better," He rolls his eyes, but his voice goes breathless and his hips twitch anyway, pressing the brunt of Doflamingo's palm into him. "Don't worry, I'm sure Roger mentioned endangered birds need not apply." 

He bites back an offended gasp when another finger slides in alongside him and then--scissors apart, come sliding from between his legs in an embarrassingly aroused pulse. The bastard. Doflamingo wolf-whistles when he glances down, dismissing the half-baked talk of aspiration with more pressing concerns. "You're good to go another round, yeah, old man? I want you on top." 

Crocodile tamps down the heat rushing his face with an irritated growl and a twitch of the eye. He slides his legs off the blonde's shoulders with a tremor running through them, presses his soles flat to the mattress with knees bent, still spread so Doflamingo can stay kneeling between his legs. 

"Cigar later, then, hmm?" Doflamingo grins, knowing the answer. The burn mark in his throat throbs with the circulation of blood. It's not too late, maybe, to get some of that blood free and, god, he  _ wants.  _ He's sure Crocodile is thinking the same, maybe even willing to offer with the way he's been tonight.

The older's brow furrows, scrutinizing gaze fixed on Doflamingo, following the slack, fond sigh to the liquid adoration settling along the rims of his eyes, seemingly finding something he dislikes. Doflamingo leans forward and captures him in a kiss before he can evaluate any further, not liking the way that stare makes him feel flayed open.

His hand resettles possessively along the seam of Crocodile's trembling thigh. Crocodile bites his tongue with a canine. 

**Author's Note:**

> Vergo sexile deeply funny. That's all. Also, sorry about my weird tonal shifts as always. This motherfucker really pingponged all over the place. No other real thoughts on this piece, more just tag fodder than anything. Hope you enjoy anyway.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you have any thoughts or anything :) they mean a lot to me! Much thanks for reading.
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


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